He canna Scotland see wha yet
Canna see the Infinite,
And Scotland in true scale to it.
Nor blame I muckle, wham atour
Earth’s countries blaw, a pickle stour,
To sort wha’s grains they ha’e nae poo’er.
E’en stars are seen thegither in
A’e skime o’ licht as grey as tin
Flyin’ on the wheel as t’were a pin.
Syne ither systems ray on ray